Chapter V

Utrilla had gone to bed, feverish and nervous. And it was with very good reason. For the second time he had failed to pass his examination; he was as good as expelled from the Military Academy.[14]

His prescient heart had told him before the examination: "Jacobo, they will certainly ask you about the pendulum, and that is the very thing in which you are weakest!"

And indeed he had scarcely taken his seat before the tribunal, when, _zas_! the professor of physics said to him in a wheedling accent:--

"Senor Utrilla, have the goodness to explain for us the theory of the pendulum."

The cadet, rather pale, arose and looked with wild eyes at the professor's desk.... The algebra professor smiled ironically, as though he divined his confusion. Why had that old man taken such a dislike to him? Utrilla could not explain it otherwise than by envy; the professor had seen him at the theatre with Julita under his protection. He arose, and with uncertain steps went to the slaughter; that is, to the blackboard. With trembling hand he made a few ciphers, and at the end of fifteen minutes drew a deep sigh of relief, and returned to his seat. The professor of physics shook his head several times:--

"That is wrong, Senor Utrilla; that is wrong."

The cadet sponged out the figures that he made, and began the operation a second time. A second quarter of an hour, a second sigh of relief; more negative signs on the part of the professor.

"That is just as wrong, Senor Utrilla."

And Utrilla rubbed out his work again, and for the third time began to cipher; but now he was weak, confused, livid, persuaded that death was at hand.

"Still entirely wrong, Senor Utrilla," exclaimed the professor, in a tone of compassion.

The algebra man smiled mephistopheleanly, and said, with an affected accent in pure Andalusian:--

"There be three ways of spellin' proctor ... _pa_roctor, _pe_roctor, _po_roctor!"[15]

The gentlemen of the tribunal covered their eyes with their hands to hide their amusement. This sneer cut our cadet to the heart; he changed color several times in the course of a few moments.

"That will do; you are dismissed," said the professor of physics, trying in vain to put on a sober face.

The son of Mars retired, stumbling over everything in his way, as though he were blind; his neck was swollen, his Adam's apple preternaturally prominent, his heart boiling over with indignation and wrath.

As soon as he reached home, by the advice of the housekeeper he fainted away. His father, on learning the cause, instead of helping him, was furious, and exclaimed:--

"You might better die, you great good-for-nothing! This fellow has used up more of my patience and money than he is worth!"

Afterwards came the following family scene. When he recovered from his fainting fit, he was informed that his father and brother were waiting for him in the office on the first floor. Here our young soldier had to endure a new and grievous humiliation. His father attacked him in a rage, called him an imbecile and a blunderbuss, and showed him the book in which he had kept account of his expenses.

"For so many months of tutoring in mathematics, so much; drawing lessons, so much; dress uniform, so much; every day ditto, so much," etc., etc.

While his _senor padre_ was lecturing him in an unnaturally high voice on this subject, his older brother was gnashing his teeth like one in torment; from time to time he gave utterance to pitiful groans, as though some demon had come that very moment to throw more coal in the furnace where they were roasting him. At last, when he succeeded in getting his breath, he exclaimed in a low voice:--

"The idea of a man having to humiliate himself from morning till night engaged in handling fat and lard in order that what he earns should be wasted by a fellow like this, in folderols and glasses of cognac!"

"It shall not be so any longer, Rafael! I swear it shall not!" roared the father. "After to-day this lazybones shall help you in the factory. There he will have a chance to learn how to earn his bread and butter!"

The ex-cadet was annihilated. He, a gentleman cadet in the most aristocratic corps of the army, to be suddenly transferred into the service of a candle factory! This for Utrilla was the height of degradation. He said nothing for a few moments: at last he spoke solemnly and deliberately in his deep bass:--

"If it has come to this, that my dignity must be lowered by making me a factory foreman, it would be better that I should be taken out into the field and shot down with half a dozen bullets!"

"Knocked down with half a dozen sticks; that's what you ought to have done to you, you good-for-nothing idler! Just wait! just wait!"

And the worthy manufacturer glanced angrily around the room, and seeing a reed cane leaning against the wall, he sprang to get it. But Achilles, he of the winged feet, had already darted out of the room, and in half a dozen leaps had reached his chamber.

Once across the threshold, he bolted the door with marvellous dexterity, and after listening breathlessly with his ear at the key-hole, in order to make sure that Peleus had not passed the middle of the corridor, he felt safe to give himself up to meditation.

He began to promenade up and down, across the room, from corner to corner, with his hands in his pockets, his head sunk and his shoulders lifted, thinking seriously how ...

But his sword was constantly thumping against the furniture and getting between his legs, and making it hard for him to walk; he took it off and flung it in military disgust on the sofa.

He came to the conclusion that two courses lay before him: one was to make his escape from the house, enlist in the army, and in this way fulfil the only vocation for which he felt any call; the other was to enter the factory and work there like his brother. It was necessary to make a decisive resolution, as became his inflexible and energetic character; and in very truth our ex-cadet, with an energy that has few examples in this degenerate epoch, promptly decided to work in the candle factory.

This important point having been settled, he became calmer, and could stop long enough to roll and smoke a cigarette.

One other thing, however, remained to be done, and this was one of great importance: to wipe out the insult which the algebra professor had given him during the examination. Utrilla argued in this way:--

If he remained in the army, the affront would not have been serious, because, of course, discipline forbids the inferior to demand satisfaction for insults from a superior; but once out of the corps and transformed into a civilian, the matter put on a different aspect--"Certainly very different!" he repeated, putting on a deep frown that was very imposing. "To-morrow I will settle this point."

And in this desperate state of mind our cadet set himself to work to indite the draft of a letter which he proposed to send to the algebra teacher.

"MY DEAR SIR:--

"If you have any delicacy (which I have reason to doubt) you will
perfectly understand that after the coarse insult which you took
pains to give me yesterday, enjoying the advantage of your
position, it is absolutely necessary that one or the other of us
should vanish from the earth. As for the proper remedy, you will be
kind enough to come to an understanding with my two friends
Senor---- and Senor---- (_Here will be two blanks for the names of
my seconds, for I have not yet decided who they will be_). I
remain, Sir, at your command, etc."

After reading this letter three or four times, it seemed to him that it was not forcible enough. He tore it up, and at one breath wrote this one:--

"SIR: You are a scoundrel. If this intentional insult is not
sufficient to bring your seconds, I shall have the pleasure of
flinging it in your face. Your servant, who subscribes his name,

"JACOBO UTRILLA."

Perfectly satisfied with the content and form of this last missive, the heroic lad copied it off with particular care, closed it with sealing-wax, and directed it; then he left it in his table drawer until the next day, when he proposed sending it to its destination.

By this time night had come, and he went to bed without any desire to eat supper. Sleep delayed her visit; the angel of desolation flapped her pinions over his brow, and inspired him with the most terrific plans of destruction. And doubtless at that very hour the algebra professor was tranquilly sleeping without the slightest suspicion of the misfortune overhanging him.

When this suggestion presented itself to Utrilla, he could not help smiling in a most sinister fashion between the sheets.

At last Morpheus succeeded in overcoming him, but with no intention of sending sweet and refreshing dreams; a thousand gloomy nightmares tormented him all night long; from one o'clock till six in the morning he battled with his enemy, using all the methods known at the present day, and some of his own invention. Now he beheld himself facing the hateful professor with a foil in his hand; the professor had wounded him in the right hand, but nevertheless Utrilla, without a moment's hesitation, exclaimed: "Come on. Use the left hand!" filling all the witnesses full of admiration at his coolness. And with his left hand, _zas!_ after a few thrusts he had buried the sword up to the hilt in his body!

Then they appeared each with pistol in hand; the seconds give the signal to aim; the professor fires, and his ball grazes his cheek; then he aims, and keeps aiming, and the professor, now seeing death at hand, falls on his knees and begs for his life; he grants his prayer, firing into the air, but not without first saying scornfully: "And to think of this man insulting Jacobo Utrilla!"

Divine Aurora, the goddess with the saffron veil, was already descending the heights of Guadarrama, when the stripling awoke in the same prophetic state of mind. Sad day that was now beginning to dawn for an innocent family, for the algebra professor's six children, had not Jupiter hastened to send to the hero's bolster his daughter Minerva in the form of the housekeeper.

"Jacobito, my dear, will you be perishing of weakness, my child! Here I have some chocolate and spiral cakes which you like so much."

The lad rubbed his eyes, cast an excessively severe look at the chocolate which was so compassionately brought him, and made up his mind to take it, but not before he had gnashed his teeth in such a desperate fashion that the good Dona Adelaida was alarmed.

"Come, come, Jacobito, my son, don't grieve, don't be so much troubled, because you will be sure to fall sick.... There is no help for it.... Going to bed without taking anything was a piece of folly. Your father will come round all right, and finally everything will be settled as you want it. You certainly must have had a very bad night! You must not go on this way trifling with your stomach!... And now what are you going to do, my son? I am afraid for you with such a rash disposition as God has given you!"

When Jacobo heard this question, he for a moment suspended the hateful task of swallowing his chocolate, raised his angry face to the housekeeper, and shouted with concentrated fury:--

"What am I going to do!... You shall see, you shall see what I am going to do!"

And then he once more began to grit his teeth so terribly that Dona Adelaida was frightened out of her wits, and exclaimed:--

"Come now, calm yourself, calm yourself, Jacobito! You know that I was present when you were born, and that your sainted mother, who left you when you were a mere baby--poor woman!--charged me to have a watchful eye over you. If you should do anything desperate, you will kill me with sorrow.... Come, my son, tell me what you intend to do...."

The lad, pushing away the chocolate cup with an energetic movement, and rolling his eyes frenziedly, screamed rather than said:--

"Do you want to know what I am going to do?... Then I will tell you this very instant.... I am going to the factory, I am going to put on a blouse, I am going to daub my hands with grease, pull the candle moulds, and roast my face in front of the furnaces.... And when any stranger comes to the factory, the hands will be able to say: 'This man whom you see--dirty, nasty, ill-smelling--used to be a gentleman cadet, a cadet in the Military Academy!... Ah!" he said, concluding with a muffled voice, "Ah! no one knows, no one knows what Jacobo Utrilla is capable of!"

The housekeeper, who was expecting some desperate resolution, when she found that it was of this sort, could not refrain from a cry of joy.

"That is right, my son, that is right! That is the best way of heaping coals of fire on the heads of your father and brother, who have been pestering me to death by saying that you were of no use, that you were a lazybones...."

"But before doing that," interrupted Jacobo, extending both hands as though he were trying to hold back the avalanche which was about to fall, "it is necessary that one of us two perish!"

"Merciful Virgin!" exclaimed Dona Adelaida. "Who is going to perish, Jacobito? For Heaven's sake, don't go lose your mind! Do you want your father to die?"

"Not him, senora, not him! I refer to my algebra professor, with whom this afternoon or to-morrow at the very latest, I am going to fight a duel!"

"And what has the algebra professor done to you? Made you fail in your examination? Now if you had studied, as your father told you to do, this would not have happened."

"Senora," cried Jacobo, in a stentorian voice so fiendish that Dona Adelaida in affright took a step or two backward, "don't you dare to speak about what you do not understand! I cannot get over my vexation that I ever had anything to do with algebra. What the professor did was to sneer at me, and this, my father's son cannot put up with! Do you understand?"

"Come, calm yourself, Jacobito; you have been very much disturbed since yesterday. Perhaps it is not as bad as you think. It may be that this gentleman did not sneer at you on purpose."

"He may not have done it intentionally, but the fact is, he insulted me, and I will not stand it; I never have yet, and I never intend to let any one insult me with impunity. You know very well that in this respect I am a peculiar man."

"I know it, Jacobito; you have the same disposition as your grandfather (peace to his soul!). What a man he was! He was as quick to flare up as gunpowder! Just think; one time when he was shaving, he heard a cry in the court; he turned his head so suddenly that he gave himself a tremendous cut in the nose.... But it is necessary, my son, to have self-restraint, and repress one's nature a little, if one would live in this world. It is my idea that if this professor made sport of you, what you ought to do is to make sport of him!"

With slight variations, such was the advice that in the early days of Greece, Minerva, the goddess of the glorious eyes, gave the divine Achilles in his famous quarrel with Agamemnon, the son of Atreus.

We are obliged to confess that this hero of ours did not show himself so amenable to the goddess's commands as "Peleus' godlike son"; instead of immediately sheathing his sword and yielding, he refused to make use of any other measures than those of force.

The only concession that Dona Adelaida could obtain after many prayers was to postpone the professor's destruction till another day.

That same morning, however, he put into effect his energetic decision of going to the factory and working there all day long "like a dog," whereby it is to be supposed that he quite put his father and brother to shame and confusion, though they succeeded in hiding it perfectly.

The greater part of the difficulties due to his exceptional position having been thus overcome, thanks to his incredible boldness and _sang froid_, the only thing that troubled him now was lest Julita would not take in good part this premature retirement from the military service. So it was that he delayed for several days telling her about it; but it was not altogether that he was afraid of annoying her; the fact was that for some time he had not seen his sweetheart as frequently as formerly. It was ominous that Julita nowadays appeared but seldom on her balcony, and it was not less significant that she was putting obstacles in the way of his sending letters regularly.

Still Utrilla wrote informing her that, "owing to family reasons, and for the purpose of attending to his pecuniary interests, he had retired from the service."

This was the only dignified way that he could find of saying that he had been dismissed.

Contrary to his expectations, this information did not produce any great effect. On the other hand, she waited five or six days before she answered it, and at the end she wrote:--

"That if he had given up his career because it was convenient, he did perfectly right; but that henceforth he would do her the favor not to send letters to her through the door-maid, since she had certain reasons for objecting to it, and that he should wait until she told him to whom he should entrust his letters."

It happened that Miguel during these days twice met the ex-cadet. The latter was so glad to see him, and showed him so much affection and friendliness, that Rivera could not help reciprocating it, carrying his magnanimity to such an extent as to call him once or twice his future brother-in-law.

"If there is no way of preventing my sister from marrying a rascal, it would be better to have you, friend Utrilla," said he.

The former cadet swelled with delight until he almost burst, not only at the prospect of marrying Julita, but also to hear himself called a rascal in such a genial way.

At both interviews he urged Rivera warmly to come and visit his factory, because he was very anxious to show it to him, and to explain the great improvements that he was planning to make in it, if his father and brother, both whom were very conservative, did not make too strong opposition. He expressed his desire so eagerly that finally one afternoon Miguel decided to take a carriage and drive to Cuatros Caminos, from which it was easy to reach the candle factory of Utrilla and Company.

"Is Senor Utrilla here?"

"Don Manuel does not often come to the factory; he lives at forty-six Sacramento Street."

"I want to see his son."

"Ah! Don Rafael," said the door-keeper. "Yes, sir; he is here. Walk in."

"It is Don Jacobo whom I want to see."

"Don Jacobo," repeated the door-keeper, hesitating and smiling. "Ah yes, sir, Jacobito; I had forgotten. He is here too. Walk in."

Jacobo was writing in the same room with his elder brother, who, when he saw that it was a friend of Jacobo, scarcely deigned to lift his head, and gave a slight nod. Utrilla, however, colored to the ears, and came to greet him with great eagerness.

"Don Miguel! You here? How glad I am!... Rafael," he added, addressing his brother, "I am going to show the factory to Senor Rivera."

Rafael without looking up, said:--

"Very well."

They went out of the office and passed slowly through the shops, stopping to examine the mechanism of each process, which Utrilla explained in a loud voice. From time to time he would say in an imperious tone:--

"Jose, run this mould!... Enrique, lift this lid!"

The workmen were in no haste to obey these orders, and he had to repeat them in a voice which any operatic basso would have envied.

The ex-cadet's factory garb could not have been more appropriate,--trousers of drilling, red shirt, shoes, and an old coat with the collar turned up. Although it was very warm, Utrilla, both on the street and at home, always wore his collar this way, which gave him the appearance of being a very dissipated man, and this was something that delighted him.

In the rooms where the women were working, Utrilla allowed himself to take some liberties with the operatives, such as winking at them, twitching at their handkerchiefs, and making this or that dubious little witticism.

"You will excuse me, Don Miguel; these are the bad habits of military life. Though one were going to be shot, one couldn't help saying some nonsense to the girls."

"All right, all right, friend Utrilla; don't incommode yourself on my account."

"Man alive, you are going now to see something very original which I happened to think of doing the other day. You will be surprised.... The foreman of the shop said to me, 'What you don't think of, the Devil himself would not, think of!'"

"Let us see it."

He then took him to the storeroom, and opening a closet, showed him a number of packages of candles with lithographed labels, which read:--

+--------------------+
| JULIA |
| (Bujia Extrafina). |
+--------------------+

"How is that?" he demanded, with radiant and triumphant face.

"Very pretty! very delicate!" replied Miguel, smiling.

"Take a package!"

"My dear fellow, no, thank you!"

"Nonsense! take one. If you don't, then I shall send one to you."

From there he took him to a room that was a sort of incommodious private office, with a wretched straw-stuffed sofa, a few chairs, and a table with a writing-desk on it; on the wall hung a panoply with the cadet's military outfit,--sword, belt, spurs, and a couple of foils and a fencing-mask.

Utrilla confessed to his friend that he could not look at this panoply without sadness, recollecting "the happy days in the service."

"What life is so happy as the military! Believe me, Senor Rivera, that in spite of the strictness of the rules, I miss it immensely."

Afterwards he offered him a cigar, and taking out a huge meerschaum mouthpiece, he began calmly to color it, calling up at the same time, with a veteran's satisfaction, various anecdotes of his academy life.

"That cigarette-holder is very pretty: what does it represent?"

"A cannon on a pile of projectiles; I beg of you to take it, Don Miguel."

"I do not need it," replied Rivera, handing it back.... "It is in very good hands."

"But I should be much better pleased to have you keep it, and I won't take it."

"Come now, friend Utrilla, don't be so lavish."

"Throw it down if you please, but I will not take it."

There was nothing to be done but keep it.

Then the former cadet brought the conversation round to Julia, and besought her brother's intercession, as he had written her four letters and had received not a single answer.

"You will understand, my dear Utrilla," said Miguel, becoming serious, "that this is a very delicate matter, and that I have no right to mix myself up in your affairs."

"The trouble is," rejoined the ex-cadet, with a sigh, "with the passionate nature which God gave me, I sent her a letter to-day, telling her that if she persisted in her conduct, she would do me the favor never to write to me again, ... and I am afraid that she is really offended."

"I am afraid," said Miguel, laughing, "that your command will be fulfilled to the letter."

The cadet remained for several moments pensive and gloomy. Then shaking himself from his melancholy stupor, and passing his hand over his forehead, he said:--

"By the way, Don Miguel, you have not washed your hands."

Rivera looked at him in surprise.

"One always gets dirty in the factory," continued the cadet. "Here is a bowl and soap for you."

"Thank you; my hands are not dirty."

But Utrilla at the same time offered him a china bowl filled with clear water, and the soap-dish, in such a way that Miguel rather than appear the enemy of cleanliness yielded and washed his hands. The soap was strongly scented with orange.

"Do you know this soap is very fine and pleasant?" said Rivera, so as to say something.

"Do you like it?... Then I am going to give you a cake of it."

"My friend, I beg of you!"

Utrilla, without heeding his protests, got the soap out of the desk, wrapped it up in a piece of paper, and almost by main force thrust it into his pocket. From that time forth Miguel took care not to commend anything which he happened to touch.

As he was going, the ex-cadet shook his hand ardently, and said in a voice full of emotion:--

"Don't fail to speak to her. If you knew how sad and desperate I am."

The truth of the matter was that he had good reason to be, as will appear in the next chapter.